Ravenholme
by AberrantRender
Summary: Ravenholme was once a bustling Resistance mining town. Little care in the world, it was safe. That is, before the day the headcrab shells soared overhead, and the town became a city of the dead.


**Author's Note: First Story here, and looking forward to more time on the site.**

Perry sat in his chair at the edge of the hastily-made wooden platform; four boxes of 12-gauge shotgun shells beside him, his Franchi Spas-12 tightly held against his shoulder as he aimed through its iron sights, scanning the streets of any movement. Jen was standing guard behind him, watching the rooftops and adjacent wooden walkways with a .357 held steadily in her hands. John had been the one however, to run for supplies; they'd drawn straws only a half hour ago, and Perry knew that it took at least two hours to search the entire town, but it didn't mean he wasn't worried. John had been his best friend since their days in the army (that was, before the Seven Hour War of course), and they'd had a history of saving each other's backs… but they hadn't really faced any headcrabs before, had they?

Perry heard a painful, prolonged groan, and he watched as a Poison Zombie walked out from a dark crevice. He sighed, laying down his shotgun, and withdrew a Fragmentation Grenade from his vest pocket. He pulled the pin, counted slowly in his head to three, and threw the grenade down just as the zombie reached for a headcrab on its back to throw… the explosion shook the platform slightly, and all that was left of the zombie were a few flaming, scattered chunks of flesh; it was, at the very least, much better than the last night.

The cobblestone streets were, for the rest of the night, mostly clear; only a few zombies managed to hobble about, but the good crazy priest's traps had done them in without the need for Perry to shoot. John had arrived, despite a fifteen minute delay, relatively on time, carrying with him more canned beans, water, and a few boxes of 12-gauge, .357, and 5.56mm ammunition for the shotgun, magnum, and Mp7 respectively, the latter three of which he had acquired from Father Grigori. The three of them were sitting on the rooftop to which the wooden lookout platform was built next to, eating with dirty spoons and forks the cold, moist beans that John had brought for them. The 12-gauge shotgun was leaned against the small wooden chair, and the SMG, the magnum, the three 9mm pistols, and a handful of scavenged grenades were all laid across the rooftop where they sat.

"Damn fast ones… almost got me a few times… I think I managed to pick two off with the SMG…" John gasped, his throat obviously dry, "You?" he asked, "A poison zombie, but I used one of the grenades to blow 'im away. You know how they tend to set things on fire." Perry said, stuffing a spoonful of moist beans into his mouth as he pointed to the charred remains on the cobblestone street below. "My turn…" Jen groaned, and with a last sip of water, she walked over to the chair and picked up the 12-gauge.

---

Perry was walking… yes, that was it, walking through Ravenholme's wide streets… men and women all walked about, minding their own business as others pushed carts of supplies through the graveyard and toward the mines. He opened the door to his apartment, walking up a few flights of stairs up to the roof of the building, where John and his girlfriend, Jen, were waiting.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" Perry asked, looking out at the town from his bird's eye view, "Couldn't be better…" John muttered, but that was just before the first shell smashed its way into the street…

---

"Awake?" John asked, nudging him in the shoulder as he lay sleeping on the relatively uncomfortable shingles, "Yeah…" Perry yawned, and he stretched himself before walking over to the middle of the roof. They pulled straws, and Perry found himself with the shortest one.

"Guess you're it today, then?" John asked, and Perry tied his boots, picked up the Mp7 with a few clips from the ammo box, tucked his pistol in his jean pocket, and answered; "Yeah… I guess so," before heading off.

---

"Shit… what the fuck…" John muttered, and, picking up a small piece of pipe on the rooftop, headed down the stairs. "I'll see you in a bit… I'm getting the SMG…" he yelled, and Jen followed quickly after him.

"_How the hell did they find us?" _Perry said to himself, pulling out his 9mm USP Match and watching as grotesque, bloodied headcrabs crawled out from the metal wreckage and made jumps for the nearest people… zombies were already walking about as other townspeople wildly fired shotguns and pistols… walking corpses tore apart the civilians, long bony claws slicing through flesh, blood being spilled on the street of a once friendly, once _safe_ town.

"God help us…" Perry finally said, and, with his pistol held in his hands in a fashion only a true U.S. Marine like himself could appreciate, he walked carefully down the stairs into the quickly degenerating hell.

---

He ran through the streets, eyes careful to notice any movement as he gripped his Heckler & Koch Mp7 Sub-machine Gun tightly in his sweaty palms. The numerous headcrab zombies roaming the streets tried in vain to reach him, but their already rotting joints and their _rigor mortis _kept them from moving fast enough to catch up to him. He stopped only to either unload a few rounds into the crowd far behind him, or to raid a nearby home or store. Twice he'd heard moans from inside the since abandoned dwellings, and twice had he avoided them... close quarters combat, as the U.S. Marine Corps had so generously taught him, was a hell to live through, and a hell to get out of.

Perry stopped by house after house, more than once hearing Father Grigori's maniacal laughter ringing throughout the town... by the time he'd gotten enough food and ammunition to suit the group's needs, he began to hear the bestial growls and roars of the fast zombies... "fast ones," as John called them.

"Shit..." he said to himself, and quickly stuffing the supplies into a bag he slung across his chest, he loaded a fresh clip into the SMG and moved forward.

---

The rabble in the streets had only grew in intensity; the surviving townspeople stuck in groups with weapons bared in all directions, and the zombies in the streets were beginning to break into homes... more shells zoomed overhead before crashing into farmhouses and apartments and unloading their parasitic payloads, and Perry continued toward John's house, constantly swiveling to check corners and alleyways for stray zombies. Screams punctuated the ambient sounds, and as he turned a corner, a group of zombies knocked him down.

"Fuck!" he yelled, scrambling to his feet and backing away as the zombies' bony claws scratched the concrete ground. He desperately shot his pistol, two or three rounds each smacking against the zombies' open chests, tearing their explosively-propelled way through flesh and bone. Hearts punctured, and lungs deflated as bullets zoomed through them. They crumpled to the floor, and as a headcrab unlatched itself from one of the corpses, it leaped... only to be shot down in mid-jump.

"What in..." but he quickly turned to see John and Jen, and they helped him up off the ground before they moved on. "Hardware store should have some wood and nails..." Jen said, and before Perry could ask what they had in mind, they were shooting their way through more of Ravenholme's zombified populace.


End file.
